


Know You Anywhere

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (Radio)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Discorporation (Good Omens), Feelings, M/M, Scenes Throughout History, Semi-Public Sex, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: Crawly gave Aziraphale a look. "You're lucky that I recognized you. Do you know what demons are supposed to do when they encounter an angel in the field?""Do enlighten me," Aziraphale said, smiling and briefly letting his eyes rest on Crawly's mouth.Immortality applies to the soul, not the body. At least when it comes to angels and demons: Crowley and Aziraphale go through their fair share of corporations throughout the years. It's slightly different every time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	Know You Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



"You don't intend to slither along in the grass like that all day, do you?"

"...Didn't see you there," Crawly lied.

Of course it was impossible not to see the Angel of the Eastern Gate, especially from this perspective. If Crawly looked up he would see Aziraphale's willowy figure stretching up into the glare of the mid-morning sun. If Crawly looked up, too, the glare would be in his eyes and he would have to squint. He kept his attention on the blades of grass currently being squashed beneath Aziraphale's braided sandals.

Aziraphale stepped off the path. His white robe rustled around his calves as he crouched to get a better look at Crawly. It was even more impossible not to see him now. He raised one eyebrow and said, "I'm sure you didn't."

Crawly pulled his tail in, curling into a half-coil. "What'sss it to you?"

"I can't imagine," Aziraphale said, in such dry tones that Crawly was briefly tempted to roll onto his back and play dead.

But then Aziraphale extended one hand and whatever embarrassment had been brewing in Crawly's gut evaporated. Crawly could see the mottled red mark on Aziraphale's brown wrist. A handful of hours ago, when the sun had been in a more obliging and discreet position, and when Crawly had been wearing a different body (one with lips), Crawly had put his mouth on Aziraphale's wrist just in that spot.

Now Aziraphale stretched his hand out to Crawly again and wiggled his fingers as if to say, _Come on then._

Crawly sighed internally. It should be easier to resist. An angel, giving a demon a command?

But it had been a very good night.

It took some clever shapeshifting to manage because he wasn't carrying-size at the moment, but Eden was showing Crawly that he could be a fine hand at clever things. He shrunk himself to a reasonable weight and length and slithered forward to close the distance between them. Aziraphale's hand remained steady as Crawly touched his scaled head to Aziraphale's wrist. Crawly quickly wound himself up along Aziraphale's arm, until he could disappear under the loose, short sleeve of Aziraphale's robe and emerge from the neckline, where he could comfortably rest his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale shuddered. "You didn't have to go under my robe," he chided.

Crawly flicked his tongue out against the edge of Aziraphale's throat. Aziraphale shuddered again. Crawly said, "Sssorry. Didn't know you were ticklish."

"You sound very penitent. The sibilance comes and goes, does it?"

"You didn't complain about the sibilance lassst night," Crawly pointed out.

Instead of answering, Aziraphale hummed. He linked his hands together and walked back to the path he'd veered off to come pester Crawly. He walked with even, sure steps, his shoulders barely jostling Crawly's long body. It made for a comfortable ride. Crawly kept his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. His body crossed Aziraphale's shoulderblades, underneath the robe, and his tail end wound around Aziraphale's upper arm.

Being carried in Hell would have been humiliating. In Hell, Crawly wore fangs and green scales so dark he blended in with shadows. He rivaled the hellhounds for size and sometimes flared a menacing hood around his head. (For demons, maintaining a clear taxonomy was less important than intimidation.)

Here, in Eden, Crawly was tempted to doze off while Aziraphale made his rounds.

"One would have thought you were avoiding me," Aziraphale said.

"Mmm." Dozing off would be easier to sleep without the pestering. "I was… doing my job."

"The humans are exploring the rainforest," Aziraphale said. The path he had taken them to would lead them there after some number of miles, no worry for an angel. For now they walked among grassy fields that, behind them, gave way to thickly wooded deciduous forests. Crawly would be glad to leave the owls behind. Owls rarely took a hint. "You're rather a long way off."

"Diabolical plotting takes effort."

"I'm sure that it does. Care to share any hints?"

"You'll find out when you find out," Crawly promised.

"You won't have much luck, you know." Aziraphale reached up and trailed his right hand along Crawly's body, where it wrapped around Aziraphale's left arm. He sounded distant, like he was repeating something he'd been told, or like he didn't expect his words to hit. At least his hand was warm. "God's creation is perfect and demons are anything but. I know they sent you up here to cause a fuss, but I just don't see how you'll accomplish it."

"Thanksss for the encouragement." Crawly moved his head to fit in the crook of Aziraphale's neck and flicked his tongue out again.

It did not produce an irritated, ticklish shudder. Apparently ticklishness came and went like sibilance. Aziraphale hummed in response. This time Crawly could feel it vibrating in Aziraphale's throat. "You may as well do your reconnaissance in the correct area, though."

"Isn't the rainforest near the Eastern Gate?" Crawly asked, keeping his voice light.

"The rainforest has to be near _a_ Gate," Aziraphale reasoned.

"If I didn't know better," said Crawly, who in fact did not know better and was simply making his best and possibly overly optimistic guess, "I'd say you were worried about what I might get up to, out of your sssight."

"I am absolutely not troubled by the thought of anything you might find yourself doing, Crawly."

"Failure of imagination, that is. Typical angel."

A small smile crept onto Aziraphale's face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked far too pleased for someone who had just been insulted. "I was told to keep the garden secure," he said. "It seems to me that if there's a clever demon on the loose, I ought to keep him close."

And then he started stroking Crawly's scales again. Crawly decided that if anyone asked, he'd report down to Hell that he'd been busy keeping the angel from his duties. Technically it was even true, since Aziraphale's duties were much more 'keep demons out of Eden' and much less 'allow conveniently-sized and currently snake-shaped demons to ride on your shoulders as you make your patrol.'

Eventually Crawly did find some time to make some real trouble. Far away from the Eastern Gate.

When it was done - a neat piece of work, even if it made a much bigger splash than Crawly had intended - Aziraphale greeted him with "Oh, it's _you."_

But then there was the whole thing with the flaming sword, and the rain. Crawly forgot all about the way Aziraphale had said hello.

At least, until it happened again.

***

"Oh, it's you!"

"It's me," Crawly agreed, glancing briefly over his shoulder before the exclamation sank in.

Aziraphale could tell it was a reflexive response and not a genuine one because the moment that Crawly realized who was speaking to him was so obvious. Crawly's shoulders went up around his ears, and he dropped the trinket he'd been fussing with. The stall keeper squawked at him, but he turned around, ignoring her, so he could face Aziraphale dead on.

Crawly looked the same as he had in Eden, if better dressed. He'd gone and set his black hair in shining ringlets. It was the snake clasp holding Crawly's hair back that had caught Aziraphale's attention as he'd walked down the street. The shapeless black robe with its long sleeves and hemline was gone. Replacing it was one of the simple, straight-lined skirts all people wore in this area, and a broad fringed shawl gathered at one shoulder to leave Crawly's right arm free. Both were dark fabric interwoven with cool gray stripes.

He carried a sword, but to Aziraphale's eye it looked more decorative than practical. There were no signs of use on the hilt. Also, despite the flinch, he didn't reach for it. Not even when Aziraphale reached up and cupped Crawly's face in one hand to tilt his chin up - Though his shoulders did tense, under his shawl.

"I'm surprised you decorate your eyes," Aziraphale admitted. The dark eyeliner around Crawly's eyes was thick and neat against his copper skin. Privately, Aziraphale would have to say the eyeliner made Crawly's eyes stand out nicely. "Doesn't it make the humans notice?"

"Notice what?" Crawly asked, gently shaking his head to free himself from Aziraphale's grip. "Strange things like random men walking up and grabbing people's faces?"

"You could have easily stopped me from doing that, if you had wanted to," Aziraphale said, sniffing.

Crawly gave Aziraphale a look. "You're lucky that I recognized you. Do you know what demons are supposed to do when they encounter an angel in the field?"

"Do enlighten me," Aziraphale said, smiling and briefly letting his eyes rest on Crawly's mouth.

Someone trying to actually buy something from the stall walked up and pointedly cleared her throat at Crawly, so Aziraphale didn't get to see the full force of the warm flush that took over Crawly's face. Crawly turned and hissed at her, and she blinked and hissed back, apparently far more determined to buy jewelry than Crawly was not to be moved. Crawly snapped his teeth once and shuffled away from the stall, and when he turned to check that Aziraphale was following him, there was no hint of blushing.

"What happened to you, anyway?" Crawly asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time I saw you, you were all…" Crawly stared at him, then held up both hands and gestured with them in parallel, drawing straight lines in the air, close together. "Like a tree."

"Like a tree," Aziraphale parroted, raising both eyebrows.

"Not that I don't appreciate a good set of shoulders," Crawly said.

"Yes, I remember how you enjoy shoulders," Aziraphale said, thinking of the soft, cool weight of Crawly's serpent form resting on his bare skin as Aziraphale walked through Eden. But for some reason that made Crawly blush again. Aziraphale said, "I got discorporated, obviously. The corporations department doesn't do exact copies, so here we are."

'Here' was literally a city in a fertile valley, home to an assortment of interesting peoples with interesting jewelry and other things to sell in a marketplace. 'Here' was also a body with cool black skin, about the height of his old one, similar to Crawly's but with narrower shoulders and thicker arms. The tastefully fringed shawl Aziraphale wore left his left arm bare, although he carried no sword these days. The armory had been displeased to learn he didn't still have the old one.

Crawly eyed Aziraphale's exposed arm like he didn't notice the lack of a sword. "How'd you lose the old body?"

"Not the way you're thinking."

"I have no idea how you got discorporated, angel," Crawly said, spreading his hands.

Aziraphale probably should have found _angel_ from Crawly's lips more disparaging than he did. He cleared his throat to ensure his voice was even and explained, "Wrong place, wrong time. I was supposed to be bolstering a weapon-maker's commitment to her cause, but, well…"

"Bolstered it too well?" Crawly guessed, grinning.

Aziraphale absently rapped his knuckles against Crawly's arm. "No, the people who didn't want her to continue making weapons showed up. Really! I did not antagonize my assignment into killing me, Crawly."

"You see why I might've thought that." Crawly paused and tilted his head to one side. "When was this, anyway?"

"Oh… ten, fifteen years ago? Time gets a little fuzzy upstairs, as I imagine it does down below."

Crawly scratched his neck and shifted his weight. He glanced at the stall he'd been shopping at when Aziraphale approached, and then he looked down the other end of the street that wound through the marketplace. At this time of day the area was crowded with everyone who'd just made the trip into the city to shop. A line had formed at the stall and it would take elbowing to make their way out of the throng of people to any other part of the city.

Aziraphale watched Crawly fidget. A suspicion crept into the back of his head and settled there, clattering against Aziraphale's skull.

"Whyever do you ask, Crawly?"

"You know what they say about curiosity," Crawly said, not looking at Aziraphale.

"I know what they say about cats. I've watched cats kill snakes, you know."

Crawly stopped fidgeting long enough to glare at him.

"What happened ten to fifteen years ago?" Aziraphale prodded. For good measure, he poked Crawly's chest.

Crawly grimaced. He leaned against the pole holding up the nearest stall and ignored the irritated glower he received from the shopkeeper for it. "I may have been told to rile up some people who were jealous of their enemies' weapons-maker."

"Crawly!"

"I didn't know you were involved," Crawly grumbled. Aziraphale found himself unwillingly flattered - perhaps he wasn't the only one with a soft spot left over from Eden? - before Crawly added, "If I'd known you were the agent on the other side, we could've called the whole thing off, pretended we managed to cancel each other out perfectly."

"Surely that wouldn't have worked," Aziraphale said.

He thought of the weapon-maker's workshop and how unbelievably hot things had to be in order to smelt bronze into anything usable. It had taken weeks to talk the woman out of destroying her entire forge. Those had been miserable, sweaty days Aziraphale could have spent doing… almost anything else.

Crawly shrugged. "Would've saved me a lot of time. Do you know how hard it is to get a demoralized band of archers to stop moaning about feathers?"

"Yes, that sounds almost as awful as being shot with an arrow," Aziraphale said.

Crawly did not look embarrassed, but he did slouch a bit. He looked at Aziraphale's bare arm again, and where there should have been a sword at Aziraphale's left hip. "I could buy you a drink."

"You have a lot of confidence in the local alcohol selection."

"I have confidence in my ability to enhance the local alcohol selection," Crawly corrected. At Aziraphale's skeptical look, he smiled and raised one hand, drawing a spiral in the air with the point of one finger. "Improving alcohol isn't the kind of thing that turns up in demonic audits."

It wasn't exactly what Aziraphale had been sent here to do, but then again Aziraphale had been sent here to wait for his next assignment. No one had said anything about tasks to be completed while he waited.

"All right. Lead the way," he said.

When Aziraphale threaded his arm through Crawly's, Crawly didn't resist, and allowed Aziraphale to stick close to his side as they wove their way out of the marketplace.

Together they walked through the small part of town Aziraphale had already familiarized himself with. The establishment Crawly had in mind was closer to the edge of the city, and the main road leading out of it. It was attached to a larger building with a sign above the door indicating rooms available to rent. The door Crawly took Aziraphale to was around the back, though, and lead into a squat extension packed with lunchtime customers. Crawly slid his arm out from Aziraphale's and fell a step behind. He settled one hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and pushed him through the crowd. Aziraphale should have protested. For some reason, though, he couldn't think of a good retort before he was being pressed down onto a bench in the corner.

Then Crawly set his sword against the wall and slithered over Aziraphale's legs to settle down on the far end of the bench, and whatever else Aziraphale had been thinking of was gone.

Crawly twisted around to settle his back against the wall. His long, lean legs stretched across Aziraphale's thighs, and his feet hung off the end of the bench. He stretched both his arms high above his head and then dropped them. One fell across the back of the bench, so Crawly's fingers brushed the fringe on Aziraphale's shawl.

"You know how to make yourself at home," Aziraphale said, fastidiously keeping his eyes on the table and not on how this region's fashion for skirts meant Crawly's knees and the first swell of his thighs were exposed. (Aziraphale's own skirt was long enough to hide knobbly knees.)

"I've got a room on the second floor," Crawly explained.

He lazily waved one hand in the air. A moment later a set of oversized mugs and a plate of assorted food appeared. Aziraphale would have called it a miracle, but if it had been a miracle the serving girl wouldn't have collected payment before returning to the kitchen. Crawly gave Aziraphale an imploring look when she gave them the total, and then seemed to realize he'd offered the drinks in the first place and produced a coin purse. Aziraphale decided against asking where the coins had come from.

The first sip of the drink was passable, but the second, after Crawly gave it a short glare, was much better. 

Aziraphale wrapped both his hands around his mug. "How did you recognize me, anyway?"

"Grabbing my face was a clue."

"No, you recognized me before that. I'm sure of it."

Crawly frowned into his own drink. His reflection in the ale must have held some kind of insight, because after a moment, he said, "Must have been your voice, then."

 _"My_ voice?" Surely he was joking. Aziraphale wasn't the one with the memorable voice.

Now Crawly frowned at him. "Yesss, that," he said, momentarily slipping back into a long _s_ the way Aziraphale had started suspecting he wouldn't hear again. "You said, 'Oh, it's you' in Eden too. After the… mess with the humans."

"Did I?" Aziraphale took a sip of his ale and put his mug down. "Most of my memories are blotted over with worrying about the sword."

Crawly looked at him for a moment, then set his own mug on the table. He moved one leg so it jostled one of Aziraphale's (and made his skirt slide further down along his thighs, not that Aziraphale was looking).

"If the sword was going to come back on you, it would have by now," he said.

And since neither of them had Agnes Nutter's gift of foresight, they contented themselves to eat some cheese and bread and continue to drink their ale until they were drunk enough for Crawly to be using more than his fair share of _s_. It was remarkable, what humans could come up with. Tangy cheeses, crusty breads, alcohol especially susceptible to miracles, and clothing that deliberately left lithe arms and strong legs bare.

Aziraphale should really stop looking at Crawly's legs. It was only that they were right there, in his lap, not moving. Or at least, not moving except when Crawly laughed, and then the laughter rolled through Crawly and straight into Aziraphale.

"At least you can get a horse now. Sometimes," Aziraphale said. "Walking everywhere was a nightmare."

"I'll take walking over horsesss any day," Crawly said, immediately. Some of his ale sloshed over the edge of his cup. The serving girl had looked a little confused when she'd come by to refill their mugs and found them already refilled, but she'd gone away when Crawly had pressed more coins into her palm. "Anyway, you can _fly._ "

"Not during the day. Can hardly wait around after you say goodbye to people. 'Why are you standing under this tree, Azira?' 'Oh, no reason, I just like to stand and smile aimlessly until nightfall.'" Aziraphale shook his head.

Crawly snickered. He put his cup down so he could pick up and swallow a crust of bread whole. "You tell the humans to call you Azira?"

"Do you tell the humans to call you Crawly?"

"Low."

"You chose to be a serpent."

Crawly's nose wrinkled. "You said that in Eden, too."

"I did a lot of things in Eden," Aziraphale said. His hand had somehow settled on one of Crawly's legs, his fingertips brushing just past the bottom of Crawly's skirt.

Grinning, Crawly leaned forward. The arm along the back of the bench came down to rest across Aziraphale's shoulders. Crawly's fingers brushed Aziraphale's bare left arm, and his eyes wandered down Aziraphale's chest to where his legs stretched across Aziraphale's lap. "You did a lot of things in Eden," he agreed.

Aziraphale kissed him. Crawly's lips parted, and Aziraphale leaned in, taking the opportunity to open his mouth and slide his tongue against Crawly's own. Gripping Aziraphale's shoulder, Crawly shuddered. It rolled through Aziraphale just like Crawly's laughter had. It was tempting to wrap an arm around Crawly's waist and pull him the rest of the way into Aziraphale's lap, but they were in public. And Aziraphale had gotten his answer, so he broke away, leaning back to rest his head against the wall.

Crawly was breathing hard. His mouth was already a little wet, but his tongue darted out to brush against his bottom lip anyway. "What was that for?" he murmured.

Aziraphale cupped his hand against the side of Crawly's neck. He ran his thumb over Crawly's throat, up and down, feeling the coolness of Crawly's skin and the beat of both their pulses. "Testing whether this body has the same reactions as the old one."

In the low light, and with the black makeup, Crawly's eyes glittered. "Doesss it?"

"You said you had a room upstairs?"

"Not under 'Crawly.'"

"Oh?"

Crawly's nose wrinkled again.

Aziraphale leaned forward. This time, he brushed his lips along Crawly's cheekbone. "If you hate the name that much, my dear, I won't use it." He tilted his head and raised both eyebrows, his face still close to - to the demon's. "But I do need something to call you."

Sharp teeth in a thin smile. "I like 'my dear.'"

"Do you like other things better?" Aziraphale asked.

"Mmmph." A pause. Finally, he tilted his head, and the narrow lines of his pupils widened slightly as he focused on Aziraphale's face. "Crowley."

"Crowley," Aziraphale agreed, kissing him again.

Upstairs, it did turn out that this body worked just as well as the old one. If not better.

The presence of a bed instead of soft earth and grass may have had something to do with it.

***

As a demon, Crowley had the ability to produce money of whatever currency he needed, whenever he needed it. He'd sold the concept to Hell as 'contributing to inflation,' which Mammon had gotten excited about. And every once in a while Crowley made sure to throw in a coin of dubious quality. Enough to pass muster on first glance and then spoil a merchant's day once they went over their earnings.

A righteous man would consider it punishment for overcharging. The people Crowley tended to fleece weren't prone to chagrin, though, and if they wanted to take it as justification for continuing to bloat their prices, they could take it up with Mammon personally when the time came.

None of that meant Crowley didn't indulge himself in a little pickpocketing from time to time. It was good to keep his skills sharp, and plucking money from another man's coin purse was the same kind of sleight of hand necessary to cheat at cards.

Plus, he wanted to see how long it would take Aziraphale to realize what had happened.

Crowley had only gotten back to Earth a couple of years ago, after an unfortunate encounter with a horse he _had not_ requested for his last assignment, and Aziraphale hadn't seen this body yet. It had broad shoulders and a narrower waist, and the hips were as agreeable as any set of hips Crowley had worn thus far. The skin had a terrible tendency to freckle and the blond hair they'd sent him up with had already darkened to an ashen color, so he didn't know how much traction he would end up getting out of the thing in the end, but for now the body served.

A few months ago Crowley had also picked up dark tinted glasses at a marketplace. Most humans still didn't notice his eyes, or were properly shamed when Crowley asked "What about my eyes?" in response to queries, but Aziraphale would spot them straight away. The glasses would buy Crowley a moment before being recognized. Probably.

As long as he didn't speak. He'd have to be careful not to speak.

Pickpocketing was a delicate art, anyway. There shouldn't be speaking involved. In and out, that was the key. All he needed to do was catch Aziraphale before the crowd thinned out and left him without cover.

Finding Aziraphale in the first place was no problem. He still had the thick, dark blue woolen cloak he'd bought a century ago. Today the breeze had a suggestion of warmth to it, a promise of spring yet to come, so he had pulled the hood down. The sun shot through his dark hair, bringing shades of brown out of the black. When he turned his head to smile at a shopkeeper calling to him from a nearby storefront, Crowley caught sight of the brooch fastening the cloak in place at Aziraphale's left shoulder.

That was new.

Crowley stared at it for long enough that Aziraphale finished speaking to the shopkeeper and resumed walking. A passerby bumped into him, and Crowley scowled, briefly checking his own pockets before continuing. All his things were still there.

Of course, Mammon would say that as a demon, Crowley should tempt would-be thieves into plucking coins and valuables from Crowley's person.

But Mammon wasn't Crowley's direct supervisor, and anyway, Crowley wasn't about to be out-thieved during his own pursuit. It would give him away to wrap a tendril of magic around himself. That would stop any enterprising thieves in their tracks, but Aziraphale would feel it before Crowley got within arm's reach. So instead Crowley drew his own cloak closer and made his footsteps especially light as he closed in on Aziraphale.

The objective had changed.

The next bump was Crowley's elbow against Aziraphale's. The new height difference made it a little tricky, but Crowley also made sure to briefly press his shoulder into Aziraphale's, near the brooch. Stopping to watch what happened next had never been part of the plan, but Crowley did bolt forward faster than he'd originally intended, and he darted around the corner before Aziraphale had enough time to react.

He'd barely turned when Aziraphale's voice called, outraged, "Stop!"

Crowley laughed under his breath. Then he stumbled, because Aziraphale's exclamation was followed up with a miracle, thrown ahead and around the corner in a thin rope to wind around Crowley's ankle. He only caught it the moment before it cinched. A human would have landed flat on his face. Crowley managed to jump out of the way. He took a hard turn into an alleyway between two stone buildings and pressed himself up against the wall, taking refuge in a deep shadow.

When Aziraphale appeared at the mouth of the alley, sunlight clung to the edges of his silhouette. If Crowley had been a human he probably would have gone cold with terror.

Instead he breathed in through his mouth, enjoying the smell of sharp ozone on his tongue. His glasses started to slip down his face and he tilted his chin up to keep them in place. He thought he may have wet his lips, but Aziraphale was too furious to notice.

The dark blue cloak had, of course, come undone the moment Crowley swiped the silver brooch at the shoulder. It hung loose over Aziraphale's left arm, now. The tunic he wore underneath was dark gray, its long sleeves rolled neatly up around Aziraphale's elbows. His trousers and stockings hugged his legs, which Crowley should probably not have been so distracted by, considering the narrow set of Aziraphale's eyes.

"I'm going to allow you to give back what you took," Aziraphale said, stiffly. He took a step forward into the alley and held out his right hand, palm up. "If you return it, you can go. It's sentimental."

Crowley tilted his head to one side, careful not to let his glasses shift and expose his eyes. He brought his hand out from underneath his black cloak and held it up, the brooch clutched in his fingers.

The coiled silver snake winked in the sunlight. The single yellow glass eye glowed.

Some of the tightness around Aziraphale's jaw dissolved. His eyebrows briefly lifted before coming down again, and he took another step forward. He pushed his open palm forward in emphasis.

Crowley tossed the brooch to him.

Aziraphale caught it one-handed. His hand closed around it and he immediately brought it up to his chest, holding his fist up near his heart. He took several short breaths as the tension in his face and neck slowly faded away.

"Were you going to smite me if I didn't give it back?" Crowley asked, raising one eyebrow.

For a stretched, silent second Aziraphale just stared at him. Then he was abruptly inches away from Crowley's face, his shoes nearly hitting Crowley's boots. He kept the brooch clutched to his chest, but his other hand came up to pull the glasses down the bridge of Crowley's nose. Not all the way off Crowley's face, but far enough down that his eyes could lock on Crowley's.

"I am sorely tempted to smite you now," Aziraphale snapped.

"Did you really need to see my _eyes_ to confirm it was me?"

"I needed to make sure some other demon hadn't decided to impersonate you. Wishful thinking." The muscles around Aziraphale's jaw had gone taut again.

Crowley felt a twinge of something that could not have been guilt, since that wasn't one of the emotions in his repertoire. He reached out and tugged on Aziraphale's cloak until Aziraphale unfolded his left arm enough for Crowley to pull the whole length of fabric free. That allowed him just enough room to shake the cloak out. Aziraphale may have been upset, but he wasn't angry enough to back away from Crowley. That was fine. It meant that Crowley could wrap the cloak back around Aziraphale's shoulders, folding the fabric just so, until it lay perfectly.

He also tried to pluck the brooch from Aziraphale's fingers, so he could fix it back into place, but Aziraphale shot him a simmering look and batted his hand away.

Crowley shrugged. He leaned against the wall and watched Aziraphale pin the brooch on himself.

It looked nice.

"The yellow eye goes well with the blue," Crowley offered. "Smart look."

Aziraphale's mouth twisted in exasperation. "I think what's been missing from my existence for the past few decades is fashion advice," he said, shaking his head.

Crowley let his lips part so he could breathe in through his mouth again. This close, he could smell Aziraphale's wool cloak. It left the faint and earthy taste of cedar on Crowley's tongue - Aziraphale must keep his clothes guarded against moths in the human way. He also tasted slivers of thyme and sage, and had an abrupt vision of Aziraphale washing himself in a basin in his rooms, carefully drawing the herbed water over his bare skin with a wet cloth. The human way. The slow way.

When Crowley slid his hands beneath Aziraphale's cloak and curled his hands over Aziraphale's hips, it didn't earn him any protests.

"Did you miss me, angel?" Crowley asked. He may have stretched _miss_ more than he usually would.

"I missed you considerably more before you decided to make me run through the streets," Aziraphale countered. "Really, what were you thinking? What would you have done if that miracle caught you?"

Crowley rolled the heels of his palms in small circles over Aziraphale's hips. It made Aziraphale's pupils widen. Crowley shrugged again and said, "I would have fallen on my face. Seems a bit harsh to use on a human."

Aziraphale's lower lip briefly stuck out. "It wouldn't have hurt a human."

"But it would have hurt a demon."

"Most demons don't go around stealing personal effects from angels," Aziraphale said. He squinted, and Crowley expected to be insulted again, but instead what Aziraphale said was, "Did you get a new body?"

"No," Crowley said, dryly. "I shed my skin and lost a foot of vertebrae along the way."

Aziraphale huffed. "You distracted me!"

"I have a different face, Aziraphale. I have _freckles._ "

"I haven't seen you in… In what, a hundred years?"

Plenty of time to find a serpent brooch with a yellow eye, Crowley thought and did not say. All he did was lean forward a fraction of an inch.

It worked. Aziraphale reached up and touched his fingertips to Crowley's jaw, pressing gently to turn Crowley's head one way and then the other. Crowley smiled, lips closed, and satisfaction curled in his belly. From the expression on Aziraphale's face, Aziraphale knew exactly what he was doing. That didn't stop him from tilting Crowley's head up and touching his thumb to Crowley's bottom lip, though.

Being a head shorter than Aziraphale for once was going to be fun.

Crowley turned his head so he could kiss the heel of Aziraphale's hand. "Didn't know you were sentimental about me," he said. Partly to gently goad Aziraphale and partly because he didn't want Aziraphale to think he hadn't heard that part, when Aziraphale had still thought Crowley was a human thief.

"I am sentimental about the brooch," Aziraphale lied, badly. It always made Crowley's toes curl when Aziraphale lied. "I can't believe you decided that was the best way to get my attention."

"Actually I was going to steal your coin purse and see how long it took you to notice."

"You could have said 'hello,' Crowley."

"S'not fun."

Aziraphale cast his eyes upward. "Is boredom a punishment for him, or for me?" he asked the sky.

Crowley pinched his hip, and Aziraphale wriggled in his grasp. Crowley slid his hands around to press against the small of Aziraphale's back and pull him forward, closing the small gap between them. He moved his head so he could look at Aziraphale over the rims of his glasses and said, "Let me make it up to you."

"What? Here?" Aziraphale blinked rapidly, then shook his head. But he was also looking at Crowley's mouth.

"You won't get your fine clothes dirty," Crowley promised.

"Someone will see us."

"No one will see us." Crowley painted a shadow across the mouth of the alley. From the outside it would look like a wall. From the inside, it let dim sunlight filter in. Enough to still see each other's faces. There was no point - All right, there was slightly less of a point in doing this if Aziraphale couldn't see Crowley's face. To emphasize the point, Crowley drew one of his hands away from Aziraphale and reached up to take his tinted glasses down. He tucked them into a pocket and grinned.

Aziraphale looked at the shadow and then at Crowley.

Crowley leaned up so his mouth nearly brushed Aziraphale's. "It's a nice brooch," he said. "You got it after we landed in Britannia?"

"Significantly after," Aziraphale said. His hand brushed Crowley's hair back from his forehead. "I heard about this fellow Patrick, who-"

"Gosh," Crowley said. "A second ago I was thinking about kneeling for you, but now I can't remember why."

Aziraphale's eyes went back to Crowley's mouth. He slid his hand into Crowley's hair, his fingers lightly raking across Crowley's scalp, and Crowley leaned back into his touch. After another moment of consideration, Aziraphale said, "It is a nice brooch, isn't it?"

Crowley half had the urge to coil himself around Aziraphale, but he had promised he wouldn't ruin Aziraphale's clothes. He nudged Aziraphale a couple of steps backward, across the narrow alleyway, until Aziraphale could lean against an obligingly clean patch of stone wall. Then Crowley kissed Aziraphale's jaw and let Aziraphale pull his head up so Aziraphale could kiss him properly. Crowley also opened his mouth and let Aziraphale bear down on him a little. It was just as nice as he'd suspected it was going to be, especially with Aziraphale's free arm coming to wind around the middle of Crowley's back.

Of course he knew that Aziraphale smiled when they ran into each other. Usually, Crowley was doing something to make Aziraphale smile at him. It was more fun that way.

But it was one thing to know that and another to see Aziraphale wearing a token that reminded him of Crowley. Something he'd found on his own. Not a thing he'd purchased to tease Crowley with. Not something he'd apparently intended Crowley to know about at all. Something Aziraphale had bought for himself, to remind him of Crowley.

It was something else entirely to know he actually _was_ missed.

When Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale used the hand on the back of his head to pull him forward again. Crowley kissed him for another moment before nipping at his lower lip and pulling away again. "Come on, Aziraphale. I did say I wouldn't ruin your fine clothes."

Aziraphale looked over Crowley's new face, his eyes tracing Crowley's features before he finally pulled his hand away from the back of Crowley's head, and dropped his arm from where it held Crowley in place against his chest. His left hand briefly came up to cover the brooch. "I can already tell that this is going to go to your head," he said.

"Oh," Crowley murmured, smirking. "You always go to my head, Aziraphale."

"If I wasn't immune to temptation, I would say you were trying to work one over on me."

"Immune to temptation is my strongest impression of you," Crowley agreed.

He kissed Aziraphale one more time, then wriggled out of Aziraphale's grip so he could sink down to his knees. The black cloak spread out and pooled on the stone underneath him. While Crowley undid the lacing on Aziraphale's trousers, Aziraphale raked his fingers through Crowley's hair, mussing it even more than it already was. Crowley got the trousers opened and pulled them down just enough to kiss the swell of Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale swallowed. He shifted his weight, pushing his hips forward, and bit his lip when Crowley grinned at him. A shiver ran through him when Crowley closed his lips over Aziraphale's shaft. His fingers kept stroking Crowley's hair while Crowley sucked, gently, until Aziraphale was hard. Crowley eased forward, taking the whole of Aziraphale's cock into his mouth. When his lips met the base of Aziraphale's shaft, Crowley glanced up.

Aziraphale swallowed. He bit his lip, which was nice, and then he exhaled and told Crowley, "I'm glad you put those glasses away."

Crowley would have laughed. Instead he just dragged his tongue along the underside of Aziraphale's cock and stored away the sight of Aziraphale shivering for later.

"I wasn't planning on hiding the brooch from you. I assumed when we saw each other again you would see it." Aziraphale gasped softly. His spine went straight, and his head rubbed back against the wall. Crowley took all of that as signs to continue what he was doing with his tongue while he rocked his head back and forth. Aziraphale seemed to lose his thoughts for a moment, and then he continued, "I do have a house here. London is growing and the investment seemed wise."

Crowley drew back until the head of Aziraphale's cock brushed his lips. He brought his hand up to curl around Aziraphale's shaft and squeezed lightly before pulling his hand forward. "Inviting a demon to your home?" he asked, rolling his thumb over the end of Aziraphale's cock.

Aziraphale's breath was stuttering by that point. "It should keep you out of trouble."

"I hope not." Crowley flicked his tongue out, earning himself a high, angelic whine that made him want to laugh again.

The reward for closing his lips over Aziraphale again was better. Crowley sucked and moved his hand, humming softly when Aziraphale stroked his hair, which neatly encouraged Aziraphale to continue. Crowley moved his hand back to Aziraphale's hip, so he could push forward again, until Aziraphale filled his mouth. He kept up at it, taking Aziraphale deeper each time, until Aziraphale let out another whine. Come splashed on Crowley's tongue. He swallowed, shutting his eyes, keeping his lips closed over Aziraphale until Aziraphale was finished.

Crowley had a situation of his own to resolve, but as he rose to his feet, the cloak fell back into place and hid it well enough.

Aziraphale's hands trembled slightly. His pupils had gone wide again. He raised one hand. Crowley expected him to fumble with the laces on his trousers, and was planning on helping, but Aziraphale twitched his fingers instead. Magic set his clothes back into place.

"Cheater," Crowley said, fondly.

Aziraphale smiled before he could stop himself, and shook his head when Crowley grinned in response. He glanced down at where Crowley's cloak had fallen in a shadowed plane across the front of his body. He started to reach out, but Crowley caught his hand.

"Don't you…?"

"Take care of me in your nice house," Crowley suggested, squeezing Aziraphale's hand.

"It is a nice house." With his free hand, Aziraphale paused to straighten the cloak across Crowley's shoulders, as if Crowley was the one who had just been slack against a wall. He also smoothed the front, which did not need smoothing, and which brought his hand dangerously close to making Crowley not want to wait to get back to his house. "I needed the storage space, mostly, but there's a park with a pond nearby. It makes for a pleasant view."

Crowley dropped the shadow protecting the mouth of the alleway. Noise from the street flooded in, along with bright sunlight. He let go of Aziraphale's hand. The two of them walked back into the flow of people. Aziraphale kept his chin up, but Crowley felt a warm rush of smugness at the barely noticeable wobble in Aziraphale's step.

"What do you need storage for?" Crowley asked.

"You'll find out." Aziraphale watched Crowley from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you want to wait? We do have a ways to walk."

"That would have been useful information before we left the alley."

"You distracted me," Aziraphale said, primly.

The entire walk, various shopkeepers and purveyors of goods called out to Aziraphale. In the interim century, Aziraphale had stopped calling people to call him 'Azira' and was currently going by 'Ezra,' which was unimaginative and would have also been unobjectionable if he didn't stop every damn time someone said hello. Every once in a while he would also smile at Crowley, and touch his hand, and to Crowley's horrified surprise that was more than enough to keep his blood simmering just under his skin.

Crowley concentrated on breathing in through his teeth and holding his hands at his sides while Aziraphale smiled at humans, and asked about their children, and playacted that he wasn't interested in Mr. Clark's latest delivery of books. Although actually, Aziraphale nearly accepted the invitation to come inside that particular shop.

At least until Crowley tugged on the back of his cloak and said, "Unfortunately, we're very busy," and Aziraphale realized that books could wait.

By the time they reached the house, Crowley was squirming. He eyed the steps up to Aziraphale's front door and hoped there was a bed not too far from it. Or a couch. Although given how long Aziraphale insisted on taking while manually sorting through his keys, Crowley started to think he'd be happy with a throw pillow as long as it was right inside the door.

What was right inside the door was a table with an enormous Bible in the center, open to a page with a spectacular error right in the middle of Corinthians, but Crowley would make fun of Aziraphale for that later.

_After._

At some point he did glance out a window. (Aziraphale insisted on walking all the way up the stairs to a bedroom, and then on undressing Crowley - slowly - by hand, but that was another issue.) Aziraphale had been right, the view was nice. There were no other houses between his and the park, so Crowley could see grass, small trees, neatly trimmed paths and a pond in the distance. When Aziraphale was done with him, he lay on his side facing the window that looked out over it all and dozed lightly.

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his temple. Crowley made a rumbling noise, and Aziraphale laughed, drawing a sheet up over their bare legs. "We'll go to the park later, if you want."

"Feed the ducks," Crowley mumbled.

"Feed, the ducks, really?"

But Crowley was falling asleep. Next to the bed was a small table. Aziraphale had set the snake brooch there, as if that was where it went every night when he came home.

***

Crowley lay down on the chaise and stretched luxuriously. His arms stuck out to either side, his legs stretched so his stockinged feet hung off the end of the couch, and his back arched, driving his shoulders into the pillows and lifting his stomach into the air.

If his memory served him right, Aziraphale had owned this chaise for at least a few decades. The chaise was older than this building for sure. It had been there in the old house, and now they were above a tidy little archive Aziraphale liked to pretend was a bookshop when the mood struck him. The chaise was definitely more comfortable in this body than it had been in Crowley's previous one.

Not that he was about to compliment Hell's reincorporation process. Couldn't let them know what they'd done right, or they'd make sure to never do it again. They'd narrowed Crowley's shoulders and stretched his spine, so his body nestled perfectly onto the couch. Also, they'd ditched the ashy blond hair just in time for black to be properly popular and Romantic. It had to be coincidence, since Crowley was pretty certain human books were eaten more often than they were read in Hell.

He let himself drop flat and tilted his chin up to stretch his neck and face into the sunbeam shining through the window. When he'd wandered upstairs, he'd shed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat, which meant a dual bonus of getting the sun closer to his skin and watching Aziraphale watch him undress.

"You may as well turn yourself into a serpent," Aziraphale said from his desk in the corner.

"Thought I was banned from being a serpent in your house." Crowley opened one eye at him, yellow as the beam of sunlight cutting across his face. He'd shoved the chaise over to the window and pulled the curtains open before collapsing. "You got squeamish the last time I shed. Said I had to keep human shape when I visited."

"I am not squeamish. I objected to your choice to shed in bed."

"You said I couldn't use the bath," Crowley said, as innocent as could be, like he hadn't been lectured to at length about not shedding in the bath to avoid clogged drains.

The tone produced the desired effect: Aziraphale made a noise of fussy outrage and pushed his chair back from his desk. Crowley did not hide a smile as Aziraphale came over to stand above him and cross his arms forebodingly. The only thing that got Aziraphale snippier than Crowley speaking as if he didn't very well know things was Crowley smiling in satisfaction when it worked.

"If all you wanted to do was sleep, you could have stayed home," Aziraphale said. His shadow fell across the sunbeam, but somehow it didn't bother Crowley.

Crowley let his smile melt into a grin. "I didn't come here to nap."

"I daren't ask why you did come here."

"You could," Crowley suggested.

The truth was that Crowley had come here because it had been a while since he'd last sunned himself in a friendly window. And it was the first time doing so with this body.

The addition of an angel trying to act like he wasn't peering sideways every time Crowley stretched pale beige arms exposed by rolled-up sleeves, or watching the progression of Crowley growing warm enough to unbutton his shirt, was just icing on the cake. (Also, Aziraphale almost never made him fill out paperwork.)

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. The nice thing about being a demon was that Crowley never pretended like he wasn't looking. The last time Aziraphale had needed a new body, the fashion in Heaven had been for tall and broad. Crowley had never made a secret of how much he enjoyed the wide shoulders or the barrel chest. Broad thighs, too - Crowley was looking forward to finding out exactly how to position himself to straddle Aziraphale's legs, now.

Aziraphale mostly complained that it made sitting at this era's delicate desks difficult. In Crowley's opinion that meant Aziraphale should spend less time sitting at desks and more time sitting with Crowley.

Unfortunately what came out of Aziraphale's mouth was not, 'And did you come here to be ravished?' but a much more chiding, "If I recall correctly, the last time you wrote, you told me the Dukes were pestering you to do an audit of the Satanic nunnery in the woods."

Crowley stopped grinning. He let both his arms fall off the sides of the chaise and glowered at the ceiling.

"I take that expression to mean that you still haven't done it."

"Mmph."

"This is one job I can't do for you. The nuns will spot me a mile off."

_"Mmph."_

Aziraphale uncrossed his arms and laced his fingers together, a considering expression settling on his face. His shadow shifted with his weight, and the sun fell across Crowley's face again. It was a sign of how long Crowley had been avoiding visiting the nunnery that he was only slightly distracted by Aziraphale lapsing into thought.

Word from Hell said that this particular nunnery, tucked into the woods around a township called Tadfield, would be strategic at some point. Word that had been sorely impressed into Crowley while he'd been waiting for his new human-shaped body to finish being stitched together. Crowley couldn't imagine such an out of the way place serving anyone's strategy. So far he'd been able to convince various levels of Hellish aristocracy that he just kept getting lost on his way to find it. Since no one else wanted to do the job, no one else realized the nuns maintained a fine set of signposts leading the way.

But telling Dagon he 'kept having more damning things pop up' and 'you know the countryside, impossible to find anything, don't nunneries all look alike?' worked a lot less well when he was sitting across Dagon's desk, staring the Underduke straight in the scales.

It was just… Satanic nuns. There was perverting the holy, and then there was trying too hard. It was embarrassing.

"Crowley?"

Crowley glanced up.

Aziraphale's eyes glinted, determined, and then swept over Crowley from head to toe. He bent over so his face was close to Crowley's. Crowley immediately felt like he'd been sitting in the sun for hours instead of minutes. Heat bubbled under his skin. Aziraphale was so close, his breath warmed Crowley's lips.

Aziraphale lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you truly need an out from this job, I could thwart you."

Crowley swallowed. "Could you?"

Aziraphale's voice sounded much less conspiratorial and far too practical for Crowley's tastes when he explained, "It does behoove my reputation to occasionally report that I've foiled a plan of yours."

"You know I'm always excited to boost your reputation," Crowley drawled. He propped himself up with his elbows and shifted his shoulders so his shirt stretched across his chest, gaping open where he'd undone the top several buttons.

"Yes, it's very helpful." Aziraphale's eyes settled on Crowley's throat, just as planned. He cupped Crowley's jaw in his hand. His fingertips pressed firm points into Crowley's skin, gently suggesting that Crowley shouldn't try looking away, even if he'd wanted to. "Saves me from doing so much actual thwarting. You are infamous as a pest, in Heaven."

Crowley tilted his chin up just to feel Aziraphale's grip tighten and struggled not to laugh. The corner of Aziraphale's mouth had turned up, and the sparkle in his eyes was familiar and teasing. Crowley said, "I think you're underselling me. I don't thwart easily."

Needing the last word, as usual, Aziraphale said, "One of us hasn't been avoiding work for the past few years."

Then he finally kissed Crowley, and his mouth was warm enough that Crowley could almost forgive the suggestion he was out of practice.

Almost.

Crowley latched onto Aziraphale's shoulders and pulled him down onto the chaise. For a brief moment he simply enjoyed the press of Aziraphale's body against his. It was tempting to stay that way, to allow himself to be pinned. Especially when Aziraphale got over his surprise and started kissing Crowley again, breathing hard, his hands moving to the buttons Crowley hadn't yet gotten around to undoing on his own.

That hadn't been the point, though. The insult still stood. Aziraphale fussed and wriggled, but it was short enough work for Crowley to flip him over and straddle his hips. (In this body, Crowley did have to spread his own legs wider to fit across Aziraphale's thighs, but the strain to his muscles was promisingly pleasant.) 

Aziraphale gasped, startled, and Crowley smirked.

"You'll have to try harder than that, angel."

"I don't know that you've given me much of an incentive to do so." Aziraphale's hands came up to cup Crowley's ass, and he pulled Crowley a crucial inch forward.

Crowley reached up to slowly pull his shirt off his shoulders. Aziraphale had been so helpful in finishing off the buttons, it was only fair to show him the product of his labor. Crowley took his time sliding the shirt down his arms and rolled his shoulders backward to shake the shirt off to the floor.

Beneath him, Aziraphale's tongue touched his lower lip. He kept one hand on Crowley's ass, but brought he other around to drag his fingertips along Crowley's skin. This body had fine, dark hair across the chest, and a line of wispy hair to match leading down the slight paunch of Crowley's stomach.

Aziraphale's fingers met the waistband of Crowley's breeches. Crowley expected him to work at the fastenings and felt his pulse rise in anticipation. But Aziraphale just glanced up at him, dark eyes peering through thick lashes, and flicked his wrist. The gentle sting of a holy miracle kissed Crowley's skin, and that was how he realized Aziraphale had simply wished the rest of his clothing away.

"Sometimes I think you might be attracted to me," Crowley said, dryly. He glanced around. "Where did you put my clothes?"

"The next room, on the bed."

"Ah." Crowley ran his thumb across the button at the waist of Aziraphale's breeches, concentrated, and sent all the angel's clothes to the bed as well. He winked at Aziraphale and wrapped his hand around the base of Aziraphale's cock, already hard. "Would you like some help with this?"

"I'd like to watch," Aziraphale said, as honest as ever.

But that was what Crowley liked about Aziraphale. Well. It was one of the things Crowley liked about Aziraphale.

He stroked Aziraphale's cock and reached backward to slide two fingers into himself, arching his back a little for show. It did make Aziraphale writhe underneath him. Crowley swirled his thumb over the head of Aziraphale's cock and dragged precome down Azirapahle's shaft. A minute later, when he rocked his weight onto his knees to lift himself up and shift forward, it was easy enough to guide Aziraphale's cock into himself. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, and Crowley let out a pleased hiss as Aziraphale stretched him open.

It felt excellent. Crowley's thighs ached a bit from spreading open across Aziraphale's lap, and this position meant that when he rocked his hips forward, he could press Aziraphale completely into him.

"Enjoying yourssself?"

"Oh, immensely," Aziraphale promised.

Crowley started making small movements with his hips, keeping Aziraphale in him while rocking himself over Aziraphale's lap. He also ran his hand over himself, dragging precome over his cock. The other hand he braced on Aziraphale's hip, gently digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, because he liked the way it made Aziraphale flush.

"Safe to say I didn't come here to nap," Crowley said.

"What I really love about you is how humble you are."

Crowley smirked. But he hadn't missed that _love,_ and he didn't last much longer after that.

For his part, Aziraphale lasted so long that Crowley ended up sprawled against his chest, kissing him slowly and lazily, his mouth open while Aziraphale had taken over most of the actual work of moving his hips. It didn't really bother him. Aziraphale's mouth was hot and wet, and the sun was a gentle heat on their skin.

"You sure know how to help a demon break in a new body, angel."

"Say that again."

Crowley smiled and nuzzled at the side of Aziraphale's face. He murmured into Aziraphale's ear, "Angel?"

"That's - Oh," Aziraphale said, and shuddered.

Yes. It had been too long since Crowley had last sunned himself in a friendly window.

***

"I like this body. Do you think you can try to keep it for a while?"

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and raised both eyebrows. Crowley's eyes were narrowed, and focused on Aziraphale's wings. His fingers were carding carefully through Aziraphale's feathers, tucking them back into place so they fell in neat lines once again. The tight corner of Crowley's mouth was the only visible sign that his voice had come out dark and unhappy. (Instead of dark and pleased, or dark and amused, or whatever else Crowley was normally feeling.)

"This is my first new body in centuries. You act like I was careless with the old one."

"If you took care of it, you would still have it." Crowley glanced up, realized Aziraphale was watching him, and scowled. "Turn around. You're twisting your wings."

Aziraphale turned back to look out at the shop. He'd only been gone for six months, and he was certain that not only was the shop not as dirty as it should've been if it had been left unattended for all that time, but it was actually cleaner than when he'd left.

They were sitting on a chaise lounge toward the back of the shop. It used to be upstairs, but when Crowley began to hang around the shop more often instead of simply dropping by for an evening, Aziraphale had brought it down to the first floor. It was long enough for Crowley to stretch out on and old enough that customers took one look and knew better than to try sitting on it. It also happened to be the perfect size for Aziraphale to perch at the end, one leg folded underneath himself, while Crowley sat behind him and fussed at his wings.

Aziraphale didn't think the trip to Heaven had resulted in that much of a mess, but he knew better than to turn Crowley down when the demon offered to groom his wings. This body of Crowley's had long fingers. Crowley had been in it since Aziraphale had gotten the shop, and he always knew just what to do with his hands.

"We've both had our fair share of bodies. Discorporation is a hassle, but it's not new. I wasn't even gone for that long." Aziraphale smiled to himself. "The last time, I went ahead and filled out most of a new set of forms before I came back. All I had to do was fill in the cause of discorporation. The forms never change, you know, so it saved me ages of waiting."

It had only been a day and Aziraphale was still getting his balance in this body. His shoulders and chest were still as wide as they'd been, but the corporations department was trying new things out with spines, and Aziraphale was a head shorter now than he'd been in centuries. He'd had to get a stepstool to reach his teacups! At least he looked enough like his old body to continue to pretend to be his own relative, his skin a soft bronze, although with the gray in this black hair he'd need to claim that 'inheriting the shop' was his second career.

"The forms are always different in Hell," Crowley grumbled. "What did you put for the cause?"

"A blow to the head. Everyone knows how fragile skulls are." Sometimes it made Aziraphale think the design could have stood some improvement, but perhaps things were different when you'd been living in a body for so many years. It wasn't as if they were supposed to last that long in the first place.

"You didn't tell them you knocked a bookshelf over on top of yourself." There it was again, the sloshing unhappiness under the normal dark of Crowley's voice.

Aziraphale started to turn around. Crowley clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, continuing his work on Aziraphale's wings one-handed.

Aziraphale sighed. "It was hardly on purpose, Crowley. And I did get hit on the head. I believe it was a hardback edition of George Eliot, of all things."

"Your shelves are overfull. Maybe it's time for a weed."

"I noticed the shelf in question was upright and all the books reshelved," Aziraphale said. He could see it from where they sat now. It looked perfectly neat, but not like nothing had ever happened. "I also noticed that there's an additional shelf next to it holding all the books that had been double-stacked."

Crowley's fingers dug into Aziraphale's feathers, near the root. It was an abrupt surprise and made Aziraphale shudder, the tips of his wings rustling as he did, but Crowley was too distracted to make a suggestive comment about it.

"I really can't have the books _too_ easy for the customers to locate, but I appreciate the thought," Aziraphale continued. "I do have a plan to reinforce all of the shelves before I reopen."

"One would hope," Crowley said.

Aziraphale let that sit for a few minutes. Crowley continued working at his wings. He had started at the center of Aziraphale's back and was working his way out. His fingers were nestled in among Aziraphale's secondary feathers, near the middle of the right wing. He had gotten all the way to the top of the wing and the long primary feathers that attached there before Aziraphale realized how quiet it was. It took a moment, but it finally occurred to him that Crowley wasn't breathing.

Oh, Crowley.

"You weren't worried I wasn't coming back, were you?" Despite the protests it earned him, Aziraphale shook his right wing free of Crowley's grip and lowered it flat against his side, so he could twist around and see Crowley's face.

Crowley glowered at him and fell back against the tall end of the chaise. His pupils had narrowed to thin slits in his yellow eyes. He didn't say anything.

Aziraphale set a hand on Crowley's leg. He didn't say anything either.

Eventually, Crowley said, "When I went to Hell to present on the M25-"

"Mmm, yes."

"-some people weren't impressed." Crowley pressed his lips together. "It seems that some of the lower crust are starting to mutter about the end."

Aziraphale blinked. "The end?"

Crowley sighed. "Armageddon."

"Oh, no. It's far too early for that. Heaven isn't ready at all." Aziraphale paused. "I don't think so. I certainly didn't get that impression." He squeezed Crowley's leg. "Besides, I've been a field agent since the beginning. There's no reason to keep me upstairs."

Crowley reached out and tweaked a feather. He did always know what to do with his hands, and now, his touch sent a tickle through Aziraphale's whole wing. Like hitting his funny bone. Aziraphale shivered. Crowley said, still unhappy, "We are immortal and have no alternative but to meet the end of the world head on. That doesn't mean I have to look forward to it." He grimaced. "Such a waste. Humanity can come up with such horrific things to do to each other. If I can't match it, nobody in Hell will be able to."

"And they are capable of surprising acts of kindness," Aziraphale agreed. He may have uncharitably been thinking of the corporations department.

"Don't know why anyone looks forward to spoiling it all," Crowley grumbled. He rubbed a hand across his face.

Aziraphale folded both his wings together across his chest. It gave him room to stand, turn around, and sit back on the edge of the chaise, his body half-turned toward Crowley. He made sure to choose a spot that meant his thigh pressed up against Crowley's, so there was no distance between them.

Crowley spread his fingers and peered out from behind them. His pupils had widened slightly.

Aziraphale stretched out his left wing and curled it around Crowley's shoulders. He leaned forward and pulled Crowley's hand down so he could touch their foreheads together.

"My dear," Aziraphale murmured. "We have plenty of time, I'm sure."

Crowley laced their fingers together.

Aziraphale gently laid a kiss to Crowley's mouth. Crowley relaxed slightly, kissing back, and exhaled when Aziraphale drew back. "And as you say, we are immortal. They can hardly get rid of us."

"Don't tempt fate," Crowley warned.

Aziraphale didn't think that 'No, that's your job' would go over well, so he kissed Crowley again.

It should be fine. Armageddon would take ages to prepare, and it was only 1990. Surely Heaven and Hell would need more than, say, a measly dozen years. (Aziraphale was, of course, right. They would need about _two_ dozen years. But he wouldn't know that until twenty-four years from then.)

For now, Aziraphale kept his wing wrapped around Crowley, and they spoke in soft voices. His mere existence meant that Aziraphale couldn't go against Heaven's plans, but there was nothing in any of the prophecies about Armageddon forbidding him from sitting here, in the shop, with someone he had known since nearly the very beginning of Creation.

Crowley finally relaxed when Aziraphale brought his right wing up and overlapped it with his left. Crowley laced his fingers together behind Aziraphale's neck and leaned against Aziraphale's chest.

They stayed like that until Aziraphale's wings truly were disheveled.


End file.
